Luck Is A State Of Mind
by TheSweetSerenity
Summary: When Dean passes his illness to Sam, nothing seems out of the ordinary. So Sam gets left behind on a hunt. What could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**I started this one awhile ago, but it took some modification to get it where it is today. This isn't going to be a long story, but hopefully you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Read and review and whatnot :)

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It was the twentieth time Dean coughed that got to Sam.

After going on a hunt (in the rain), all three Winchesters came home, irritable and dripping wet. John hadn't even waited a day before taking off on a new hunt, saying he'd be home in a few days. About two hours after that, Dean had started coughing.

Sam had ignored it at first—Dean wasn't stupid, contrary to popular belief, and he had gotten a class of water. After that came the runny nose. And then the sneezing. Sam dealt with it for awhile, but this time, he was fed up.

He slammed his books down on the table and stalked into the kitchen, rustling around in one of the duffel bags they hadn't bothered unpacking until he found the Nyquil. He then proceeded to storm back into the living area and slam the bottle down in front of Dean.

"So help me god, if you do not take this, I will force feed it to you," He snapped, before going back to his homework. Dean watched him with wide eyes, frozen into shock. Usually Sammy reserved that kind of anger for their dad. Deciding he was acquiring new (useful, in his opinion) skills, he uncapped the Nyquil and chugged down a couple mouthfuls. He never bothered reading the dosage instructions…

Which was something Sam knew and appreciated. When Dean was sick, the only way to make him better in a reasonable amount of time was to knock him out (or drug him). Sam bet that, within the hour, Dean would be fast asleep.

Sam was right. Within the next half hour, he heard noises as Dean got up and flopped himself on his bed, not even bothering to change out of his clothes. Sam smiled and settled back into his homework, figuring he would check on Dean in an hour, when the drugs had knocked him out enough that he wouldn't notice.

Sam was alarmed when he went to go check on Dean. His face was flushed red and when Sam went to go feel his forehead, he could feel the heat before he felt Dean's skin. He pulled the thermometer out and stuck it in Dean's mouth, waiting impatiently. Dean grumbled a little bit but didn't move too much. When the thermometer beeped to tell Sam it was done, Sam was shocked to see it read out a temperature of 101. He hurried to get cold washcloths.

Whatever Dean had picked up, it wasn't small. For the rest of their dad's absence, Sam spent his time rushing around the small apartment, gathering up anything and everything to help Dean feel better. Half the time Dean was barely aware of what was going on. He would wake up, mumble something incoherent, take whatever Sam was shoving in his hands, and fall back asleep. It left, not only Dean exhausted, but Sam too. So much so, that when his dad came back from his hunting trip, Sam didn't even wake up until John set his duffel down on the kitchen table, the guns and various other weapons knocking against each other noisily. Sam sat up quickly, wondering what could possibly be wrong with Dean now, until he noticed his dad's shadow walking around the kitchen. Sam got up and moved quietly towards the kitchen, though he doubted anything could wake Dean right now. His dad looked up when he got to the doorway.

"Hey Sammy," he said, seeming to relax a little bit. He was always like that when he first got home from a hunt—uptight and on edge.

"Hey dad," Sam answered, sitting down across from his dad. "How'd the hunt go?"

"Took a little bit longer than I expected, but I got the son of a bitch. What's wrong with your brother?"

Sam should have known he would have noticed something wrong right away. Usually Dean was the first one up when their dad walked in, a gun already aimed at the doorway until he was sure it was their dad. Dean hadn't even so much as twitched.

"He's been sick. It didn't start off bad, but about eight hours after you left, his fever skyrocketed and he hasn't really been awake much since then. The fever finally started coming down last night, so I think he's just sleeping it off now."

John nodded. "Let's hope so. Bobby called and wants our help with a hunt in Indiana. I told him we'd take off tomorrow."

Sam sighed, already fighting back arguments. "Well if he's not, he can sleep in the car. I can drive."

"Then you better go sleep now. If Dean's even semi-conscious tomorrow, you know he won't let you touch the steering wheel unless you're 100 percent awake."

Sam smiled at that and nodded, pulling himself out of his chair and walking off to the bedroom he and Dean were sharing. He barely made it to the bed before he passed out again.

Turns out, Dean _was _semi-conscious in the morning. In fact, he woke up, truly woke up, and seemed completely healthy. Sam marveled at his ability to spring back from being so sick. However, when he drew the line when Dean tried to insist that he could drive. Even their dad went against him, making Dean compromise at letting Sam drive for at least a couple hours. Dean didn't sleep at all. In fact, he seemed to have more energy now, then before he got sick. When the compromised couple hours were up, Sam was more than happy to relinquish the driver's seat. As Sam positioned himself against the window with ever intention, Dean spoke.

"Hey Sam?" he asked. Sam looked over at him, noting the serious tone Dean had. "Thanks for taking care of me."

Sam snorted. "You actually remember anything from the last three days?"

"Bits and pieces, but whatever I remember always includes you hovering over me."

Sam shrugged and leaned back against the window. "Its nothing you haven't done for me before."

This time it was Dean who snorted. "The mighty Sam, get sick? Seriously, when was the last time you got sick?"

Sam tried to think back, but he had to go a ways back. Dean was right; it was rare that Sam ever got sick. "It's been awhile, but if we keep talking about it, you're going to jinx me. The last thing we need is for me to get sick right before we go into a major hunt."

"Whatever." Dean playfully punched Sam in the shoulder and even though Sam smacked his hand away, there was still a smile playing at his lips as he drifted off into sleep.

Jinxing is exactly what Dean did. When he woke Sam up when they arrived, Dean could feel the heat pouring off him. Sam woke slowly, and even after he woke up he was groggy and confused.

"Damn dude, when did you start feeling sick?" he asked as he grabbed Sam's bag before Sam could even reach for it.

Sam shrugged helplessly. "Felt fine. Now I feel like shit."

"You look like shit," Dean offered. Sam merely glared back at him and headed for the door that John was standing next to. It opened to reveal Bobby.

"I booked you the room next door," he was saying as Dean and Sam approached. He took one look at the two of them and winced. "What's wrong with you?" he asked Sam.

John looked over at his youngest in shock. When they had left, Sam had looked perfectly healthy. Now his skin was flushed and there was a glassy tint to his eyes. He was leaning against a pillar, and John could see that it was a miracle he was even managing that, from how bad he was shaking. He held his hand out, obviously wanting the key to the room. John handed it over wordlessly.

"Ask him," Sam said, with a jerk of his head at Dean. Of course it threw him off balance and he had to put his hand against the building in order to remain standing. There was a click of the door as Sam unlocked it and he disappeared into the doorway without another word. Dean was the first one to break out of his shock.

"I'll get him settled and then I'll be over." John nodded and walked inside Bobby's room while Dean moved off towards where Sam had disappeared. The scene that greeted him was not exactly what he was expecting. Sam was laying only several feet in from the doorway, crumpled on the ground. Dean quickly dropped the bags and hurried over to him. As soon as Dean touched him, Sam started awake.

"What happened?" Dean asked as he helped pull Sam to his feet. Sam's body didn't seem to know what to do with itself, and Dean ended up taking most of the weight. Sam looked at him, confused.

"I don't know." His words were slightly slurred. "Last I remember, I was walking into the room…and then I was on the floor looking up at you."

Dean sighed—obviously he had passed out. "Let's get you to bed. There should still be some of that medicine left from when I was sick."

"M'kay," was the only answer he got. Obviously Sam wasn't going to be much help to him.

"Here, take this." He said, thrusting a cup full of medicine in Sam's hand. Sam obediently took the medicine, and was asleep in seconds. Dean made sure there was a cup of water sitting by the bed before he moved back into the next room.

"So what am I supposed to be asking you?" Bobby asked, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. Dean sat down at the table with a huff.

"I've been pretty sick for the last three days. Obviously to thank Sam for looking after me, I spread the sickness onto him."

"You would have done the same thing for him, and we all know it," John said, knowing Dean was feeling guilty for infecting Sam. "We'll just have to do the hunt without him. I doubt he'll be too depressed about it."

Dan looked up at his dad in shock. "What? No, I need to stay here and look after Sam!"

"We need you with us more Dean. Sam can look after himself."

"Dad, the only reason I got over my sickness is because Sam was with me at every minute. If he hadn't been there, I probably would have died of dehydration—I wasn't really thinking about getting water." Even though Dean protested, he knew it wouldn't help at all. His dad had already made up his mind and nothing would change it. Bobby wouldn't meet Dean's eye though. At least someone agreed with him that this was a bad idea. He felt bad about bringing Bobby into a family fight but… "Bobby, come on man, you have to know that this is a horrible idea."

Bobby shrugged, but Dean could tell he felt bad about going against him. "We'll only be gone one night, and your daddy is right. We need the back up on this one."

"Can't you call in Pastor Jim or Caleb?" Dean's protests were getting weaker. With both of them against him, he didn't stand a chance.

"They wouldn't get here in time. You're going Dean, be ready tomorrow at eight." John said, sufficiently ending the conversation.

Dean got up, anger coursing through him. The next person that talked to him was going to get a mouthful. Lucky for the two older men, they knew to hold their tongues, so Dean was left to storm out of the hotel room in silence. When he got outside, he looked longingly at his baby, wanting so bad to just take her out for a drive and work off some anger, but right now, Sam needed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**An update for all of you to enjoy :)

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When he entered their hotel room, Sam was blinking sleepily at him. The fever glaze to his eyes was still there, but he looked less dazed. Dean hoped that it was a good sign, and Sam wasn't as sick as he was.

"Surprised you came back in," Sam said quietly. His voice was raspy, and Dean could see the water cup was empty. Without asking, he grabbed the cup and moved off to the bathroom to refill it.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Usually when you're mad, you go out for a drive."

Dean winced. Obviously the hotel had thin walls. "You heard all that, huh?" he asked from the bathroom.

"Kinda hard to miss dude." When Dean came back out from the bathroom, Sam had his head propped against the headboard and his eyes closed. Dean quietly set the cup down, hoping Sam had just fallen back to sleep. Sam's hand grabbed his wrist as he went to pull away though. "Dean, I'll be fine. I'm feeling better than you were. At least I can form full sentences." Sam gave a timid smile, but up this close, Dean could see pain lines etched in his face. He turned and forged the pain killers out of his bag. Sam looked between the pills and Dean before he decided there was no way he could get away without taking them.

"This just feels like a bad idea Sammy. I don't like it."

"You're very consistent in that." When Dean looked at him for explanation, Sam added with a slight smile, "Not liking ideas that have to do with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well when dad wants to bring me on a hunt, you always want me to stay home and now when dad tells me to stay home, you want me to go with you." Sam was giving Dean the best smirk he could muster in his sick state. Dean scowled at him, not amused.

"I don't want you to go Sam; I just don't want you to stay here by yourself. Unlike when you usually stay back, you're completely vulnerable right now. No way can you fight like this."

"As long as you lay the salt lines down, I should be fine. Demons and ghosts are really the only things that are going to be coming to look for me."

Dean knew that Sam was right, but it didn't ease the troubled feeling in his gut. He had learned long ago to trust his gut when it came to Sammy.

"I still don't like it."

"Of course you don't." Sam said quietly. Dean looked over to see that Sam was already starting to slip back into sleep. Rather than ease his worries, for some reason it made him feel even worse about leaving him tomorrow. Knowing there was nothing he could do about it, he pulled the covers up to cover all of Sam's body and lay out on his own bed, knowing he wouldn't be going to sleep anytime soon.

Sure enough, a couple hours later, the fever dreams started. First Dean noticed that Sam had started moving around a lot, managing to pull the sheets off of him. Dean got up to pull them back up and saw that Sam was breathing strangely. He was panting, like he had just got done running a mile. When he could breathe, he muttered incoherent words. Dean could already tell that the fever had gotten worse. He got up and wet a washcloth, then pulled a chair up next to the bed. Dean bit his lip in worry; how did his dad expect him to leave Sam in this condition?

Dean had only been there for a half hour when Sam yelled and his eyelids fluttered open. His pupils were wide and his eyes moved back and forth. Dean could tell he was scared of something.

"Dean," Sam rasped out, his eyes finally staying on his brother. He started coughing, but his arm still snuck out to grab Dean's arm and pull him closer. "Dean. Shapeshifter."

Dean looked up quickly, thinking Sam had seen someone else in the room. It was just the two of them. Dean looked down at Sam again, who was still looking frantic. "What do you mean Sam?"

"Chasing…shapeshifter, chasing me." Sam panted out. His hand was still locked tight around Dean's arm. Dean looked at him, still confused.

"Sammy, it's just the fever. Go back to sleep." Like the order had direct control of him, Sam's eyes closed and he slumped back down. His hand grew slack and fell off Dean's arm. Worried, Dean watched Sam for a minute longer before he pulled the sheets up and put a fresh washcloth on Sam's forehead.

The hotel door opened quietly. Dean reached for the gun he had set beside Sam's bed, but before he reached it, he recognized his dad. At the last second, he grabbed the silver knife strapped to his ankle. He didn't know what Sam had meant when he had mumbled about a shapeshifter, but he didn't want to take any chances.

"I heard yelling. Is everything okay?" John asked quietly.

"The fever is starting to take hold. He's just having bad dreams." Dean wished there was a light in the room, so John could see the glare Dean shot at him.

"Dean he'll be fine. He probably won't even wake up while we're gone. The town is only twenty minutes away." When Dean didn't say anything, John sighed. "Go to sleep Dean, I'll take your spot," John said. He was close enough to Dean now to see the skeptical look his son shot him. John repressed a laugh. "Believe it or not, I still remember how to take care of you two when you're sick."

Reluctantly Dean gave up his chair to his dad. Before he lay down, he made sure that everything John would need was right next to him. John didn't miss the movements and frowned.

About two hours into his watch over Sam, Sam got restless again. He muttered and shifted in the bed. John rewet the washcloth and rubbed calming circles on Sam's shoulders, but he still tossed and turned. His muttering became louder and John could make out some of the words.

"Get away from me…go away." Sam seemed to be repeating it over and over again. When he seemed the strongest, his arms weakly pushed against John's. John tried to tell himself it was just the fever, but doubt still filled him. He didn't doubt Sam would say the exact same thing if he was awake and saw who was taking care of him. Still, John didn't give up his spot and sat there faithfully until Bobby came to tell him it was time to go. Wearily, John left his seat.

"How's he doing?" Bobby asked quietly as John slipped outside, leaving the door open to let in the breeze. John just shook his head.

"We could try and take care of this by ourselves John…" Bobby offered.

"No, we need Dean with us."

"I'll be fine." The barely audible voice made both older men jump. Sam must have woken up, and heard them talking. His face was still flushed and sweat had broken out over his forehead, but the fever didn't seem to be affecting his mind as violently. "I've stayed home from plenty of hunts before."

"Maybe so, but this is the first time you've stayed home while your this sick. If someone broke in, you would have no way to defend yourself."

Sam sighed, which led to a bout of coughing. "Like I told Dean last night, just lay down the salt lines and I should be fine. I'll even keep my phone by me," he protested weakly when he caught his breath.

Movement behind him made all three look back. Dean had woken up and found Sam out of bed. Sam knew he was in trouble by the glare Dean was throwing him.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Sam innocently showed the glass of water he had been going to fill up. "Just getting more water."

Dean scowled and stole the glass out of his hand, pointing at the bed. Sam sighed and stumbled back over obediently. Dean took off to the bathroom and filled up the cup before returning to fuss over Sam more. John sighed and shook his head, knowing that Dean wouldn't leave before he was sure Sam was well stocked.

"We're leaving in ten minutes Dean," John barked. There was a slight nod from Dean, but it was better than John expected.

"Dean," Sam paused to cough before continuing. "I'll be fine. I'll leave my phone on the table and it's charged so you can get a hold of me. And…" Sam paused and dove into the duffel sitting next to the bed. Dean watched him dig around the various weapons. His hand paused on his favorite knife, a curved iron knife that Dean had given him for his birthday a couple years ago, before it shifted the knife to the side and pulled out a silver one. He displayed the knife for Dean before he tucked it under his pillow. Dean snorted.

"Sam do you really think you can even fight back in this state?"

"Maybe not but I can put up a good fight, maybe enough to get away. It's as good as you're going to get. Take it or leave it."

"I don't really get a choice." Dean mumbled, but he reached back into the bag and pulled out, not only the knife Sam had almost grabbed, but his gun. He set the gun on the table next to the phone and then slid the knife under the table a few feet away. "Never hurts to be over cautious."

Sam rolled his eyes and settled under the covers more. Dean could tell he was already starting to fall asleep again. "You're like a freaking mother. Always pestering me."

Dean frowned. "If I was you're mother I'd be staying here with you."

Sam gave him a small smile. "Well it's settled then. If you had your way you'd be my mother."

If it was supposed to cheer Dean up, it didn't work, but Dean plastered a smile on his face anyway, just to make the kid feel a little better. He gently smacked Sam's arm.

"Don't get used to it. Next time you need a ride home from school, I'm leaving you on the curb."

"Jerk," Sam muttered, his eyes closed.

"Bitch." Dean checked the salt lines he had laid down earlier and put the medicine by Sam's bed in arm's reach. Once he was sure Sam was asleep, he quietly slipped out, making sure the door was locked behind him.

The rumble of the car had faded awhile ago, though Sam wasn't awake to notice. He didn't hear the hotel door opened when it opened again, nor when someone took a seat on a couch near the TV. Instead, he rolled over, falling deeper into sleep.

Sam woke a few hours later, wondering what had interrupted his sleep. A slight rustle from the other side of the room made his hand slide under his pillow while he turned to check it out. The fever seemed to have diminished somewhat, much to Sam's relief. Even more to Sam's relief was the fact that he recognized the form on the couch.

"Dean?" he asked quietly. Apparently his voice was still missing. The form moved aside a magazine covering its face, revealing Dean's face. Dean gave a small smile.

"Hey kiddo. Go back to sleep."

"What about the hunt?" Something wasn't breaking through Sam's thoughts. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I begged dad to let me stay again. He finally gave in."

"M'kay." Sam rolled back over, letting his worry slip away. It didn't sound like something their dad would do, but Sam was so tired…

He didn't see the anger behind Dean's smile as the magazine moved back in front of his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**I realize it's been quite awhile since I last updated so I figured it was about time. I hope you all enjoy it! :)

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Sam woke again sometime later. The sun had come up and was trying to shine through the curtains that they always left pulled tight across the window. His throat burned, wanting water, but he had drunk the rest of his water just after their dad and…

Dean. Dean was still here. How had he convinced their dad to let him stay? He turned over to look at Dean, who was still hidden behind the magazine. He watched Dean for awhile, but a page didn't turn, so Sam figured he had fallen asleep. He quietly grabbed the water glass off the table and slipped from the bed. He stood for a few seconds, letting his body adjust to the sudden shift in height. When he finally blinked away the last of the black spots, he started forward with unsteady steps. His whole body was shaking.

He made the trip there successfully, only having to stop once to regain his balance. Dean didn't move at all. Once again, his brain whirled into action, alerting him that something was wrong, but Sam couldn't break past the fever fog to realize what it was.

It was when he came out of the bathroom that he ran into problems. Coming out of the bathroom, he tripped over something, just barely managing to catch his balance. He straightened up and looked back to see what had tripped him. Only Dean stood there, smirking at Sam. His foot was casually placed in the middle of the doorway, where Sam couldn't have missed it.

"What the hell Dean?" Sam scratched out.

"Just paying you back," Dean said with a shrug. Sam frowned.

"Paying me back for what?"

"For getting me stuck here. Instead of going out there with dad and Bobby and hunting something down, I'm stuck here watching you sleep all day."

Sam's frown deepened. That didn't sound right either. "I told you I would be fine. You could have gone."

"Yeah, that's what everyone was planning on until you woke up screaming last night," Dean said with a scoff. He moved off towards the couch. "Then dad decided that maybe I should stay home with you if you couldn't even sleep without someone next to you."

Sam flinched. What the hell had he done to deserve this? Sure, sometimes Dean got this pissed at him, but it was very rare. Very rare. "Earlier you said that you begged dad to stay with me."

"Anything to get you back to sleep!" Dean said, throwing his arms out like he was exasperated.

"And last night…" suddenly something broke through the haze that hung over his mind. Last night he had told dad that he _didn't _want to go, that he wanted Dean to go with them. And when he had woken up from that nightmare, he had been dreaming about something, some creature… the glass dropped from his hand, shattering into little pieces.

"You're not Dean," he stated, moving back away from the form of his brother and towards the bathroom door. His hand was sweaty and slipped on the wall, catching on the light switch. The light flickered on and caught Dean's eyes. His eyes blinked white. The shapeshifter smiled.

"Technically, yes. I have his form, his thoughts, but in the sense you're using it," the shapeshifter cocked his head to the side, studying Sam. "No. I'm not Dean."

Sam inched back further, his eyes snapping to his bed where the silver knife was hidden under his pillow. But the shapeshifter was Dean, and Dean knew where he had hidden that knife. The shapeshifter stepped in Sam's line of view, effectively blocking his path.

"See, I was worried that you would recognize me right away. You almost gave away my plan last night. Luckily the real Dean blamed it on the fever. How did you know by the way?" the shapeshifter moved closer to Sam. The last thing Sam wanted was to get backed into the bathroom with nowhere to go, but he wasn't really getting a choice.

The shapeshifter was right though—Sam had dreamed of him. Time seemed to slow down. All he remembered from the dream was a blur of images. Sam only remembered walking through the woods with his dad and brother. White eyes kept appearing out of the bushes, slowly but surely, separating him from his family. Somehow his fevered brain had figured out what it meant. He took another step back, more out of shock then anything. Since when had he started predicting things?

"It doesn't really matter though," the shapeshifter continued and time rushed forward for Sam again. "You and I? We're going to have some fun while we wait for your dad to come back."

The shapeshifter lunged and Sam ducked behind the bathroom door, slamming it and locked it before the shapeshifter could grab him. He pounded on the door, slowly but surely breaking the cheap lock. The only thing Sam could hear was Dean's laughter from the other side of the door as he furiously tried to think of a way out of the situation.

"I'm sorry sir, there must be a problem." The deputy looked like he had just graduated high school. Since when did they start recruiting so early? Then again, Dean was hardly older than him. He shifted, anxious to get out of here.

"Excuse me?" John demanded. People always told him what he wanted to hear when he used that tone of voice. The deputy visibly gulped.

"You-you asked for information on the Sander murder, but we already have the murderer in custody."

John glowered at the man. This was not going the way he expected. "I want the case file. If we got called down here for no reason, there'll be hell to pay."

The deputy nodded quickly and disappeared behind a filing case. The three of them had arrived in the town of Tailors over an hour ago. First they had gone to the crime scene, but almost everything had been collected and taken. What was left yielded no help to them. There was no sulfur, so it wasn't a demon. There was no obvious smell, so it wasn't a ghost, nor was there any ecotoplasmic goo. They hadn't wasted much more time there, going to the evidence. With their fake F.B.I badges, they had approached the desk, only to hit this little road bump.

"He-here you go sir." The deputy said, sliding a case file across the desk.

"Do you have a room where we can study this in private?" Bobby asked. John already had his face in the file, frowning deeply.

"Uh, there's a conference room around the corner. It should be unlocked."

Bobby nodded his thanks and led the way, opening the door before John walked straight into. They sat down and looked at John expectantly. He was pacing back and forth. Finally he looked up from the file and looked at Bobby.

"What made you think that there was a case here?" John asked, managing to keep most of the anger out of his voice. Bobby glared back, far from intimidated.

"The house that the girl was murdered in had a state of the art security system, which didn't show any signs of tampering. There were no signs of struggle in the house. The body was completely mauled in a way that no human ever could have. Yet the house was surrounded in iron, so no ghost could have gotten through. I knew it was supernatural, but I didn't know what it was, which is why I called you."

"Well according to the evidence, there were fingerprints left behind by her attacker. Fingerprints of a local man, who they now have in custody," John said. "And the chance that the fingerprints got there accidently is basically impossible. The victim and the murderer were enemies, and everyone knew it. She would have never let him into her house."

"Did he admit to doing it?" Dean asked. His gut was troubling him—something was going on here, something he knew the answer to…

"He claims he was out of town. The police are still checking his alibi," John answered, looking back in the file. Dean shrugged.

"It wouldn't hurt to talk to him then."

John frowned and studied his oldest. He recognized that look; Dean had something, but he didn't know what yet. If he wanted to stick with this case rather than let it go and head back to Sam, it had to be something serious. John nodded and left to get an escort.

Ten minutes later, the three of them stood on the opposite side of a man dressed in the bright orange of inmates. Next to him sat a fat, short man dressed in the best suit money could buy. John occupied himself with glaring at the lawyer while Bobby asked the questions. The man kept shifting in his seat and pulling at his tie.

"So you claim you weren't in town the night that Ms. Sanders was murdered," Bobby stated, watching the man carefully. He was pretty good at telling when someone was lying to him. The man swallowed before he answered.

"Every month, I spend a week at one of my stores, to check up on the employees and everything. I run a restaurant, one that competed with Julie's. That's why we never got along. Every time I built a new restaurant, she built another one right next to it. Last time I went over to her place to confront her about it, she had a security guard throw me out before I even made it past the front gate. Even if I had been here, which I wasn't, she would have never let me near her house. You can check my flight record!"

Conveniently, the door opened and one of the police officers stepped in, a paper in hand. He nodded the three F.B.I agents out into the hallway.

"He's right," the officer said. "He was away on business in the northern part of the state and he didn't get back until the day after the murder. We'll check it more thoroughly," the police officer shrugged, troubled. "But it looks like this isn't our guy." He turned away and walked down the hallway. John started pacing again, until he caught sight of Dean's face. He looked stricken.

"Dean." That was all John needed to say. Dean knew what he wanted.

"Dad…what about a shapeshifter? Could a shapeshifter leave an exact fingerprint of another person?"

John stopped in mid pace. "It would explain how he got through the security. He just had to turn into someone with access."

"And that would explain why there wasn't a mess. She let someone she knew into the house, not her enemy," Bobby continued.

"Who better to frame then the woman's enemy? It would make for an easy story and no one would poke around." John looked back at Dean who, if it was possible, had gotten even paler. "How did you know?"

"It-it was something Sam said last night." _Chasing shapeshifter…chasing me._ The words echoed in Dean's head. Now they made sense. They were chasing after a shapeshifter who was…

Chasing Sam.

"Dad, we have to get back to Sam!"

Dean was already halfway down the hallway before the other two realized he was gone. People gave them alarmed looks as they sped past, but Dean didn't care. There was a steady rhythm running through his head, pounding out in time to his footsteps: _gotta get to Sam. have to make sure he's okay._

"Dean wait!" John called as they burst out of the doors. Dean didn't slow down until he was in the car. "What do you mean?"

"Last night, you came into the room because you heard Sam yelling, remember? He had woken up just before you came in and he told me something about a shapeshifter. He said we were chasing a shapeshifter who was chasing him. I thought it was just the fever, but now?" Dean looked pleadingly at his dad. John paused, thinking fast, before nodding. He had learned to trust Dean when it came to Sam. he was rarely wrong.

"Let's move fast."


	4. Chapter 4

**Uhhh, all I have to say is please don't hate me. I've been out living my life and haven't had time (and yes, sometimes I forgot) to update. But I'm here now so hopefully everyone can come back and continue the story!

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**

The car pulled up outside the motel and Dean was out of the car before it was turned off. Bobby grabbed him before he made it into the hotel room though.

"You idjit, what if there is a shapeshifter in there? You're going to walk right into it unprepared." He pushed his gun into Dean's hands. He had loaded it with silver on their way back. Dean didn't pause to thank him, just took the gun and ran to the hotel room. "We better back him up. He's not thinking straight."

John already knew that—he had a duffle bag out, full of an assortment of silver weapons. "Let's go."

Dean cracked the door open, his gun at the ready. His eyes took in the room quickly, seeing if there was anything out of place. Everything was exactly where he had left it, including Sam who was lying in bed. But then the light came through the doorway, momentarily lighting Sam's face. What little skin Dean could see was bruised. Now that he was _really _looking, he could see a blood stain on the bed. He looked over the room again. A piece of glass reflected the light coming in through the bathroom window. No one else was in the room though. Dean pushed open the door the rest of the way and hurried to Sam's bed.

"Sam? Sammy, come on, open your eyes." Dean said, pulling the sheets away from Sam's face. He regretted it instantly. Sam's face was a collection of bruises and scraps. One along his hairline was still leaking blood, though blood was barely coming out anymore. Sam stirred and very slowly woke up. Both of his eyes were black and swollen partially shut. His eyes darted around, fearfully, before they caught sight of Dean.

"Sam, where is he?" Dean asked quietly. He was unprepared for Sam's next action.

Sam, upon seeing Dean standing above him, had started awake the rest of the way all at once. He scrabbled back, pushing himself away from Dean.

"No…no…get away from me." He whispered. He pushed on a broken wrist and cried out, coming to a completely stop in his race to put as much distance between him and Dean.

Dean's heart stopped. Maybe it shattered, he wasn't sure. Sam was scared…of him. Sam had been scared plenty of times, even if he didn't admit it to their dad, but never of Dean. Never. Dean backed up a little, hoping to calm Sam down. Maybe it was just a dream Sam was having and any minute he would realize Dean was here to help him. He held up his hands peacefully.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean was begging. He never begged. Sam took in gasps of air, studying Dean through his half opened eyes. They seemed to catch on something, and some of the fear vanished from his eyes. Throughout the whole time the shapeshifter had tormented him, he had never shown sadness or love, even when he was trying to be Dean. Sam closed his eyes in relief and leaned back against the wall. His family was here. He was safe.

"Not him. Real Dean." He muttered to himself.

"How can you be so sure Sammy?" it was Dean's voice, but it wasn't coming from the real Dean's direction. Sam's eyes flew open and he saw the shapeshifter walk out of the bathroom where he had been hiding. Dean could see now that the door had been broken down. It would be impossible to see from the entry way, but from this angle, he could see glass littering the floor as well. Then his eyes moved up to the figure in the doorway-

And he saw his own reflection.

Well, not his reflection. Reflections didn't move on their own. That was why Sam had been so scared of him. The shapeshifter had taken Dean's form.

"You know, I thought about taking Sam's form and waiting for you to come in, but I think the look on your face was worth it when you realized that Sam was scared of you. Your own brother, scrambling to get away from you."

"You're going to pay for what you did to him," Dean said, his voice deadpan. Inside though, his emotions were raging. The shifted between anger, fear, and a sudden need to kill something. Specifically the creature standing across the bed from him. His hand went down for the gun he had set on the table by the bed but the shapeshifter lifted Sam's gun, ready to shoot, and pointed it at Sam. Dean let his hand drop uselessly to his side. The shapeshifter smiled.

"I knew you would do that," he said tauntingly. It took everything Dean had not to launch himself at it. The door burst open, revealing Bobby and John. Dean reached for the gun, but the shapeshifter was quick, closing the distance between the two of them and knocking the gun across the room with one hand while grabbing Sam with the other. Sam cried out in pain. The shapeshifter had one arm across his chest, holding his arms down while the other hand held the gun to Sam's head. Everyone froze.

"Guns down," the shapeshifter demanded. Both John and Bobby hesitated to put their weapons down, so the shapeshifter tightened his grip. Sam managed not to make a noise, but they could all see the pain in his eyes. Bobby and John slowly put their guns on the ground, holding their hands up in defeat.

"Let him go," John said. He didn't bother to keep the anger from his voice.

"How do you even know I'm not the real Dean?" the shapeshifter asked innocently. John was not amused.

"Last I check, my son wouldn't hold a gun to his brother's head."

The shapeshifter looked back at Dean with a grin. "He certainly feels like it sometimes." He tapped his head with the gun lightly. "Believe me, I know."

John snorted. "They're brothers. I wouldn't expect anything less from then. Sometimes I feel like putting a gun to their heads." The smile dropped off the shapeshifter's face. Obviously this was not what he was aiming for. "What do you want?"

"What any of my kind wants with you. Revenge. You killed some pretty important people to our race."

"So you hide behind my son instead of coming at me."

"The last thing anyone wants is for your sons to follow in your footsteps. I'm just taking care of the problem before it becomes one."

Dean watched Sam carefully, looking for a sign that he was okay. Sam's eyes flickered up to meet his and a small smile tried to make an appearance but just then the shapeshifter shifted and pain masked his face. Once it cleared up, Dean could see the Sam was looking past Dean, at something else. Dean followed his eye line. It landed on Sam's pillow.

It took a couple seconds before comprehension came to Dean. Before he had left, Sam had tried to reassure him by putting a silver knife under his pillow. But the shapeshifter would have known the knife's location. Would he really have left it there? Notably, Sam wasn't really in any condition to fight back.

Luckily the shapeshifter had left Dean behind him. If he moved too quickly, the shapeshifter might notice him from the corner of his eyes, but he was hoping his dad would keep the shifter's attention. Slowly, Dean leaned down, letting his hand slide underneath the pillow. His heart stopped when it connected with cold metal. He gripped the hilt and slowly stood back up. Sam was still watching him. Obviously he had a plan in mind to get out of the way. He needed a signal though, to tell him when he was ready.

Just as he thought about it, Sam winked at him. Several things happened at once.

Sam shifted his weight, letting his body become dead weight. The shapeshifter stumbled, trying to keep a grip on Sam while still keeping his balance. He caught Sam when his head was level with the shapeshifter's stomach. Before he could pull Sam back up though, Dean jumped over the bed, bringing the knife down and through the shapeshifter's heart. The shapeshifter's eyes widened briefly in surprise before he collapsed, dead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Look! A timely update :)**

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For a second no one moved. Then Dean heard Sam moan and everyone snapped into action. John and Bobby pulled the shapeshifter off Sam and Dean dove to the ground.

"Sh, it's okay, I'm here Sam," Dean said reassuringly as his hands moved over Sam's body to find all the injuries. He avoided the broken wrist, and discovered a broken finger on the other hand. The cut along his forehead had opened again. The rest of his face was covered in bruises, as was his neck. There was one bruise that ran along his neck. The shapeshifter had probably held Sam against the wall with his arm by Sam's neck. Dean bit back his angry growl.

Sam's arms were mostly a collection of shallow cuts. A couple were deep, though not deep enough to need stitches. Dean looked in the bathroom and saw bloody pieces of glass strewn among the other pieces.

"Sam, I have to take your shirt off so I can see what the damage is, okay?" Dean asked quietly. All he got was a brief nod. Rather than try and pull the shirt over Sam's head and jar all his injuries, Dean pulled out his knife. Dean saw Sam involuntarily flinch, but he bit his lip and tried to ignore it as he cut the shirt off.

If Dean thought Sam's face had been bad, it was nothing compared to his chest. This time, it was covered in bruises _and_ cuts. When Dean pushed lightly on Sam's ribcage, Sam inhaled sharply and cried out. He couldn't tell if they were broken or just badly bruised. He would bet it was a mixture of both. Sam's quick breath triggered a coughing spasm, and tears leaked out of his eyes at the pain. Dean's heart sunk even more. He had forgotten Sam was still sick. _Never catch a break, do ya kid? _Dean thought to himself as he set Sam's head in his lap to help relieve his lungs. When he was done, Dean wiped away the tears that had snuck out of his eyes.

"Is there anything else that hurts?" he asked. Sam smiled a little and Dean could practically hear his thoughts: _what doesn't hurt?_

"Ankle," was all Sam did say. Dean moved carefully out from underneath Sam and pulled up the legs of Sam's sweatpants. Sure enough, the left one was swollen and bruised. It didn't look broken or sprained, probably just twisted. Before he could move back up, something red caught Dean's vision. The bottom of Sam's feet were covered in blood and Dean remembered the glass on the floor. Sam had probably walked over it while he was trying to get away. He forced his muscles to unclench before he moved back up to Sam's head.

"I'm going to move you to the bed, okay? It's probably a lot more comfortable then the floor."

Sam nodded and closed his eyes, knowing he was about to be in a lot of pain. Dean leaned down to pick him up but stopped when his dad rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Ribs?"

"Busted, but I can't tell if they're bruised or broken."

John nodded and leaned down, putting both his hands on either side of the rib cage. His large hands seemed to dwarf Sam's body. When had he got so skinny?

"Feels like a mix. It'll be easier if we pick him up together and keep him as flat as possible." Dean nodded and carefully slid his hands under Sam's shoulders. "On the count of three. One, two, three."

Sam made a choked off sound as they pulled him up and his eyes started to roll back.

"Sam, come on buddy, stay with me. You gotta stay awake until we can get you bandaged up." Dean said softly. Sam nodded and forced his eyelids back open. All he wanted to do was sleep and hope this whole thing was a bad dream.

"What happened Sam?" John asked. He knew it was probably the last thing Sam wanted to talk about, but he needed to know. Sam winced as they set him down.

"Woke up sometime after you left. Heard someone in the room. When I looked it was just Dean. Said he begged you to let him stay and you finally gave in. Thought something was wrong, but I was tired." John pulled the remains of Sam shirt off and started looking over his arm wounds. When he shivered, Dean pulled the blanket over his naked chest. "Woke up again some time later. Had to get water. When I was coming out he attacked me. Tried to get away but I lost my balance. Reflexes were shot." Dean thumbed away the tear that leaked out of the corner of Sam's eye. He knew how Sam was feeling—helpless and useless.

"It was the sickness Sam. It messes with your internal balance and your reflexes. Remember that first time I got up from the bed and I face planted it?" A smile played at Sam's lips before it quickly faded off.

"How did you get this?" John asked, rubbing a washcloth over the slash on his forehead. Sam grimaced as he poured alcohol over it to clean it.

"Slipped out of his grip but he grabbed the back of my shirt. Slipped on," here Sam paused, his eyes darting to Dean, then to a particularly dark stain on the carpet not far away. "Something and slammed my head into the corner of the night stand," he continued like he had never paused. Dean eyed the spot in question and forced his anger down for what seemed like the twentieth time that night. The "something" he had slipped on was undoubtedly blood; Sam's blood that had already been spilt.

"And this?" Dean asked, lightly touching Sam's neck. He already guessed, but he wanted to be sure. Sam flinched out from under his touch and Dean quickly pulled his hand back.

"Held me against the wall," Sam said with a glare. Sam knew Dean, and he knew that Dean already knew the answer to the question. If he wanted a play by play of every injury, he was out of luck.

"Why didn't you tell me his wrist was broken?" John snapped. "We're going to have to splint this. Luckily it's a clean break."

"Tried to catch myself when I fell, but I landed wrong and that's what I got in return," Sam said before Dean could ask.

"And the finger?" Dean moved the hand with the broken finger closer to him so he could look at it. The top of the finger was crooked. Sam merely shrugged. Dean knew that one too—the shapeshifter had intentionally broken it. Before Sam could protest, Dean snapped the finger back the right way. Sam inhaled sharply, which set off another round of coughing. Dean hurried to grab a glass of water while John propped him up. "You're kinda a mess, you know that right?" Dean asked, trying to lighten the mood as he handed over the water. Sam just gave him a tired smile as he wheezed and tried to catch his breath.

"Is there anything else?" John asked as Sam finally settled down.

"His ankle and his feet," Dean said helpfully. Sam leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes, trying to push past the pain. John moved down to look at his ankle.

"This has to be wrapped. You'll just have to take it easy for a couple days, but I don't think that's really going to be a problem," John tried to say lightly. Inside though, he was wishing Dean hadn't killed the shapeshifter so quickly. He wanted to make the creature suffer for what he had done to his son. John looked at the bottom of Sam's feet and winced. "Your feet just need to be cleaned off. Go to sleep Sam, we'll wake you later." Sam nodded and dropped off into sleep in record time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hark! A...not so timely update. In anyway shape or form. But I am still here and I am still working on it. I really apologize for all of this!  
Read and review :)

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"You were lying about his feet," Dean said after he was sure Sam was asleep. John nodded.

"There's still glass in some of the cuts. We're going to have to pick it out and then clean it out. Get the tweezers." Dean grimaced and moved off to the bathroom. They spent the next half hour carefully picking out glass from Sam's many cuts on his feet. Very rarely did Sam stir which did nothing to sooth John or Dean's fears. Once the cuts were clean, John carefully cleaned them while Dean wrapped them.

However, when John moved up to his wrist and pushed the bones back into place, Sam woke up _very _quickly. He whimpered pitifully, not really conscious enough to know what was going on. He only knew that he was feeling pain and he wanted it to stop. It took Dean holding his arm in place to get him to sit still long enough to wrap the bone. After John finished setting and cleaning it, Sam tossed and turned for awhile, breathing heavily, before he finally drifted back into sleep.

"I'll sit with him for awhile," Dean said. John nodded; he needed to help Bobby with the clean up anyway. He paused on his way out and rested a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"There was nothing you could have done Dean," John said gruffly. Dean shook his head.

"I knew I should have stayed with him. I _knew _it."

"And if you had been here, maybe you would have both gotten killed. We'll never know Dean," John said with a shrug. "Besides, you know Sam won't blame you. You can't blame yourself."

"Sam will," Dean said helplessly. "He'll blame himself for this whole mess. He won't _tell _us, but he'll think he wasn't strong enough, or smart enough, or something, to get away."

"Maybe, but those are his demons to deal with. Not yours." John walked out and shut the door firmly behind him. Dean leaned back miserably and settled in to wait the night out.

_Sam flipped over quickly, trying to regain his balance before Dean, no the shapeshifter, not Dean, could attack again. His head was ready to burst in pain though. What had happened to it again? His whole body ached and he was losing track of where all his injuries came from, or where they all were. A drop of blood dripped off the table, onto the back of his hand. Oh, so that's what had happened. He had hit it on the table. Wonderful. _

_Sam tried to pull himself up, but it was hard when he was still shaking, his wrist was definitely broken, and his vision was spinning. There was no way he was going to get away. Sure enough, a hand clamped on the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to the familiar face. _

"_You know," the shapeshifter drawled. It was easier to tell the difference between Dean and the shapeshifter when he talked. Dean would never talk like that. "I keep wondering when you're going to get the hint." _

_A punch landed against his jaw, knocking his head sideways and making his ears ring. Sam didn't really feel it though. Pain was a just a constant thing now, nothing new. _

"_See, dad and I don't really need you. Why do you think we always leave you behind? We don't want you to mess up and get us all killed. We know you're going to one day." _

_Another punch landed on his stomach, irritating the cuts that were still bleeding. God, he was never touching glass again. _

"_We've been waiting and waiting for you to get a clue, but for being so academically smart, you sure are stupid. Seriously Sammy, let me spell it out for you. We don't want you with us. You aren't part of the family." _

_Sam desperately wanted to fight back, verbally and physically, proving that he _was _part of the family and that he _was _strong enough to keep up with him but he was tired and so, so weak. Maybe Dean, no the shapeshifter, had a point…_

"_Now let's see if we can give you something to remember this for the rest of your life." From what Sam could see of the shapeshifter did not look good. There was a strange smile on Dean's face, one that Sam had never seen before. His hand held up a long piece of glass, deadly sharp. Understanding dawned on Sam and once again he started to try and get away, but the shapeshifter just laughed as he flipped him over and held him down, a knee on the back of his neck, slowly cutting off his supply of air as intense pain sparked in his back. Sam knew he was screaming…_

"Sam! Wake up damn it!" Sam instinctively moved away from the voice that he had heard only seconds ago, taunting him. Pain flooded his back, his wrist, his _body_, but he still pushed away, desperate. "Dad!" the voice called again. Sam forced his eyes open trying to take in his surroundings. John appeared out of nowhere, making Sam jump, a frown on his face.

"Sam calm down, it was just a dream," John said soothingly. Sam took in deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Dean stood a ways away from the bed, his arms clutched around himself looking lost. Sam wished he could just melt away so he stopped hurting his brother. It was Dean who had been trying to wake him up from his nightmare, not the shapeshifter Dean. And once again, he had flinched away from the one person who always had his best interests at heart. John started to rub Sam's shoulders, trying to help calm him down, but all it did was spike the pain in his back. Sam cried out and tried to shift away, but the pain just got more intense. Now that he was awake, Dean moved closer, even more quickly once Sam started crying out.

"Sam, where does it hurt?" John and Dean were asking him, but the pain was too bad and Sam kept his mouth closed, knowing if he opened it all that would come out would be screams and whimpers.

"Where didn't we check?" John gave up trying to get an answer out of Sam and turned to Dean. Dean scanned the area near where John had been touching—after all, it was after he had touched Sam that he had shown real pain. Sure, the shoulder was black and blue, but nothing that would cause this amount of pain.

"His back," Dean said suddenly. He had been more concerned about the ribs then Sam's back. "Dad, his back."

John sighed. Now they would have to put Sam through more pain in order to flip him over. "Alright Sam, this is going to hurt a little bit."Dean could see the slightly sarcastic line by his lips cover the pain lines. He could practically hear Sam saying _yeah, thanks for the heads up dad. Like I didn't know that. _"On the count of three Dean. One, two, _three_." Dean and John tried to roll him onto his side as gently as possible, but Dean saw Sam grip the bed with his good hand. His knuckles were white. Dean almost copied him when he saw Sam's back.

Width-wise across Sam's back were deep, ragged cuts. Obviously a piece of glass had been used; a knife would have cut much smoother. The edges of the wounds were puffed up and Dean could already see infection setting in. Dean turned without prompting and gathered the alcohol and bandages.

"Sorry Sam, we're going to have to flip you all the way. These have to be cleaned and you have to stay off of them," John explained, at the same time wondering what the hell they were going to do about his ribs. It would be brutal to leave Sam putting all his body's weight on them. "Dean, grab the vicodin."

Dean raised his eyebrow at that. John only gave them heavy pain killers when it was bad. Sure, he knew Sam was bad, but he was trying to deny that Sam was _that _bad. He grabbed the capsule out of the bag and returned the bed, grabbing Sam's water cup to fill up.

"Give him two pills," John instructed as he finished situating his supplies. Dean wanted to protest, but when he saw Sam's pain-glazed eyes he shut his mouth. What Sam needed now was a hospital, not home doctoring. They didn't really get a choice though.

"Here Sam," Dean said, holding the pills out for Sam. Sam stared at them stupidly, his mind slow to catch up. Dean helped him sit up, trying to ignore how tense his muscles got when Dean touched him. Sam obediently swallowed the pills and, with Dean's help, laid back down, this time on his stomach. He was out before they even started working on the cuts. "I shouldn't have killed him so fast," Dean muttered.

"I agree with you," John said with a small smile that was mostly masked by his concern and guilt. "But it was necessary. We needed to take care of Sam."

"What did you do with the body anyway?"

"Luckily our motel is out in the middle of nowhere. We took it out in the forest and burned it. No one saw us." Dean heard the meaning behind his words.

"But you still want to leave as soon as possible."

John nodded. "We'll leave tomorrow, and just move to the next town. We'll just give him more pills to help knock him out."

"And Bobby?"

"Going the opposite direction for a long time. If anybody saw us and raised questions, that should help throw them off our trail. These are all going to need stitches. Sterilize a needle," John said wearily. One of these days, Sam would catch a break. He _would_.


End file.
